


Serpent Territory

by noorakardemmomesaetre



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Banter, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Rivalry, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Some Gang Violence, southside serpents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-03-24 15:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13813788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noorakardemmomesaetre/pseuds/noorakardemmomesaetre
Summary: Bad boy meets good girl?Jughead Jones has always hated a fucking cliche.AU: Jughead Jones is the newly appointed leader of the Southside Serpents.Ages: 25 - 26





	1. Whiskey, Straight

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! 
> 
> This is a story that I’ve been working on for a while, I’ve been wanting to write something a little darker and deeper into the Southside. 
> 
> Special shout out to @elegantmoonchild for bringing SweetVee to life and for being so supportive of those of us who love to incorporate the pairing! 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts at the end if you’d like; they really do mean so much to me! xx

The smoke wafting from Toni’s cigarette dissipates, revealing a smirking Jughead dragging the back of his hand against the crisp white of his t-shirt. A crimson streak of Sweet Pea’s blood stains the article of clothing and Toni rolls her eyes, taking another drag.

 

"You hit like a fucking Ghoulie, bro."

 

"And you bleed like one," Jughead grins, tugging the cigarette from behind his ear and holding it between his teeth as he teases, " _too easily."_

 

Sweet Pea catches the rag Toni’s tossed to him, holding it to his bloody nose as he sets down his pool stick, returning Jughead’s cocky grin with a scowl of his own.

 

"Come on, Pea, let me buy you a consolatory beer," Toni sighs, hopping off a ripped worn leather bar stool and leading the boys to the busy bar counter at the back of the Whyte Wyrm.

 

Jughead’s gaze wanders about the bar as he walks behind his best friends, taking a long drag and allowing the smoke to tumble from his parted lips as he nods to his father seated at a hightop table amongst his fellow OG’s.

 

"You guys shouldn’t joke about the Ghoulies anymore," Toni tosses over her shoulder as she walks behind the bar, grabbing an ice cold Corona and popping the top off, "now that Malachai’s dead, his son plans to lead the gang."

 

"His son, huh?" Sweet Pea says through the rag pressed gently against his possibly broken nose, "you got me shakin’ in my boots, Topaz."

 

Jughead bites back a laugh while Toni rolls her eyes, tucking a lime wedge into the bottle and salting the rim.

 

She slides the bottle to him as a silence falls across the bar, the large entrance doors of the Whyte Wyrm swinging open to reveal a scantily clad Veronica Lodge arriving for her bartending shift. She winks and blows a kiss towards the small group of casually seated OG Serpents and they whistle back in appreciation.

 

Jughead sighs, running his fingers through his wild curls as she makes her way over to the bar.

 

She’s one hell of a bartender and she knows how to bring in tips.

 

At least, that's what he’d told his father when he’d hired her.

 

He’d omitted the fact that she had been one of his closest friends since high school and that her parents had dumped her on the streets like a piece of garbage when she’d refused to contribute to the ‘family business.’

 

"Nice of you to  _finally_ show up, Veronica," Sweet Pea drawls, tossing his bloody rag in the garbage can behind the counter before giving her a slow once over, "and I mean that,  _nice."_

 

"You look like shit, Sweets," Veronica says as she grabs her tiny black apron, tying it around her waist, "don’t tell me you lost to Jug in pool _again_."

 

"I let him win," Sweet Pea snaps defensively, bringing his beer to his lips.

 

Jughead laughs, shaking his head at his friend’s narrowed eyes, “his ego’s more bruised than anything else, Veronica.”

 

Veronica laughs, but she already has a bag of frozen peas in her hand, making her way over to inspect Sweet Pea’s nose a bit further.

 

He pulls away stubbornly, but one “seriously?” glance from Veronica and he’s powerless to her mending.

 

Realizing the bar has fallen silent again, Jughead’s eyes lift curiously to where most of the eyes in the bar are now openly staring.

 

_Oh._

 

She’s fucking beautiful.

 

And not in a revealing, damn-I’d-love-to-get-a-piece-of-that kind of way (although Jughead wouldn’t object if a piece was offered).

 

In more of an angelic faux innocence type of way, captivating the room with her light blue eyes and demure pink sweater.

 

Clearly not raised from the dirt and grime of the Southside.

 

“Northsider,” Toni observes, tying her own apron behind her back as the woman seats herself at the empty half of the bar, “I’ll take her-“

 

Jughead shakes his head, the slightest movement silencing her offer.

 

He’ll take this one.

 

She shrugs, confused, as Jughead grabs a shop towel from under the bar, cleaning his hands before sauntering to that side of the bar.

 

“You look a little lost, princess, can I get you a cab?”

 

“If a cab is what you’re calling your strongest whiskey,” the blonde sighs, sifting through her purse before turning to give him a sweet albeit tired smile, “then yes, and make it a double.”

 

His eyes drop to her pristinely pressed sweater, offering only a promising glimpse of her collarbone, and back to her soft pouted lips.

 

Alright, he’s _slightly_ impressed.

 

Veronica shoots him an interested look as she shakes a cosmopolitan for one of the Serpents’ old ladies and he returns it with a shrug, flipping up a clean glass and snagging his most expensive bottle of whiskey from the top shelf.

 

Jughead isn’t ignorant to the peculiarity of the situation, but her kind smile and tight jeans has him more curious than suspicious, at least for now, as he slides her whiskey glass down the bar counter.

 

“I may have misjudged Sunday School over there,” Sweet Pea grins as Jughead leans against the counter, his back to her. He wasn’t the type of bartender to engage in a conversation with a girl just because he found her modesty intriguing.

 

“Ordering whiskey doesn’t make her any less Sunday School, Pea,” Jughead lies, grinning at a chuckling Sweet Pea, “tell your dick to relax.”

 

“Boss’s orders,” Sweet Pea sighs sarcastically to the front of his jeans.

 

The cup slides back down the counter, tapping Jughead’s elbow and his gaze lifts from the empty glass to an expectant perfectly arched eyebrow.

 

“If you aren’t too busy,” the Northsider calls, tilting her head to smile innocently at him, “I’d like another.”

 

“Damn, Jug,” Veronica laughs lightly as he grabs the same bottle of whiskey and her now empty glass, “you may have finally met your match.”

 

“Not likely.”

 

Pouring her another glass, this time Jughead decides to stay at her end of the bar, leaving the bar rag casually tossed atop his shoulder as he leans against the counter in front of her.

 

“Long day?”

 

She tucks a lock of blonde hair that seems to have escaped her ponytail behind her ear and sets her glass down, peering at the contents before she glances up at him, “the _longest._ ”

 

“Let me guess, work’s hard, boss is an asshole?”

 

“Not quite,” she leans forward, a playful smile tugging at her lips and Jughead can’t help but return the gesture while he looks at the ceiling thoughtfully.

 

“Boyfriend forgot to call, dinner was already made?”

 

“How could you tell?” she finally sighs, looking down at her hands before continuing, “I worked so hard on that roasted chicken and those mashed potatoes. He can be so ungrateful!”

 

Jughead bites his lip and shakes his head, “maybe he’s become complacent. Five years is a long time to be in a relationship.”

 

“And still no ring,” she pouts, holding up her barren left hand, before using said hand to bring the glass of alcohol to her lips once more.

 

“I’ve actually been putting a lot of thought into your predicament,” he finally says, lowering his voice and resting his elbows on the counter.

 

She seems excited by the prospect of a secret and leans forward on her own elbows.

 

“Do tell.”

 

_“I think you should leave him.”_

 

She gasps in response, her hand flying to her chest in horror and he can’t help it, a chuckle escapes him, a wide smile replacing his usual smirk.

 

“You lose,” she grins, her hand dropping as she turns to call out to Toni, “can we get him a shot? My treat.”

 

He wants to object, drinking with beautiful foreign-to-Southside bar patrons has never been a good idea, a lesson he’s learned through Sweet Pea. Before Veronica showed up, that is.

 

But he takes the shot from Toni, clinking his glass against the blonde’s as they throw the alcohol back, savoring the refreshing burn.

 

“So, you got a name?”

 

“Betty,” she smiles and he’s beginning to wonder how much trouble that smile has gotten her into as she reaches her hand over the counter and into his own outstretched palm.

 

“Jughead.”

 

Her hand lingers in his as her eyes fall to the inked black snake wrapping around his forearm, fangs bared, before they lift to his once more, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as her hand falls back to her drink, “interesting. You’re a bartender here?”

 

“I’m  _the_ bartender here,” he shrugs arrogantly before grinning at her surprised look, “I actually own this bar.”

 

“When he gets done sucking his own dick, he’ll let you get a word in, love,” Veronica smiles at Betty as she walks past, leaving her in a fit of giggles as Jughead rolls his eyes.

 

“So, what brings you to Southside?” he’s pouring her another glass, wanting to keep the conversation going, despite the fact that half the bar is watching them.

 

“Visiting an old friend,” she shrugs, taking another sip and allowing the burn to hit her throat before she continues, “a lot has changed since the last time I was here.”

 

He nods, pouring himself another glass to take the edge off.

 

That shot must have him feeling _particularly_ friendly.

 

“Not sticking around long, then?”

 

“To be determined,” she says softly, her heated gaze meeting his for a second too long and fuck if his mind doesn’t jump to places it shouldn’t before she giggles, breaking the moment, “is it my turn to play the game?”

 

“It’s your turn to lose.”

 

“Not likely,” she repeats his words from earlier before swirling her whiskey in her glass, and sighing, “no wedding ring, so I’m going to assume…your wife just left you.”

 

Jughead’s eyebrows shoot up and Sweet Pea snorts into his beer glass before pretending he’s deep into whatever is on his phone screen.

 

“You two got married really young, _t_ _oo_ young, you weren’t ready.”

 

He was going to shut the suggestion down, but he can’t help it, she seems so set on this idea and it’s too cute for him not to play along, “you got me, I should’ve been honest with her.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” she shakes her head, fighting a smile as she continues, “but she could tell you had a wandering eye, so interested in other women.”

 

Sweet Pea shakes his head, grinning at what seems to be his phone but Jughead knows he’s listening to their conversation and vows to _actually_ break his nose later.

 

“You took it pretty hard when she left, figured she’d stay forever, despite all of your flaws,” Betty sighs, shaking her head in faux sympathy at him and he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, “but then you saw this bar for sale, and what better way to appease the life you lost when you married her, then by buying a bar with your buddies?”

 

“Wow, it’s almost like you know me better than I know myself, Betty.”

 

She giggles, leaning forward so that their faces are only inches apart and his tongue runs along his bottom lip in anticipation.

 

“You have no idea, Jughead Jones,” she breathes before she throws back the rest of her drink, slamming the glass down and tossing a hundred-dollar bill on the counter.

 

“I guess I’ll see you around,” she tosses over her shoulder as she head out of the bar and Jughead can’t help thinking he sure as hell hopes so.

* * *

 “You’re leading the Serpents now, son,” FP is saying a few nights later, swirling his drink around in his glass, “at least pay those men the respect of meeting their new leader.”

 

“So that I can remind him he’s in Serpent territory and we’re not to be fucked with?”

 

FP takes a swig of his Jack and Coke, his eyes fixated on his son before his lips widen into a grin that only serves to emphasize the emptiness behind his eyes, “exactly.”

 

Jughead cracks his neck and sighs irritably.

 

Showing up to have this conversation with the Ghoulie leader will be nothing more than an annoying reminder for the guy and seems pretty fucking pointless to Jughead.

 

They know their place.

 

But not showing up is a sign of disrespect and the Serpents are nothing if not respectful of the weak.  

* * *

Ghoulie Manor (the name alone makes Jughead cringe) is an older bike shop thrown together by a bunch of men who have nothing better to do with their time than to spray graffiti and destroy their own shit. Tattered chairs, cheap alcohol, and even cheaper women. The Ghoulies are nothing but a punchline to the Serpents and FP had ensured they’d remained that way for the past twenty or so years.

 

However, the address given to Jughead was deeper South than he normally ventured, even on official Serpent business. His suspicious grimace had immediately been met with Sweet Pea’s furrowed brows and Toni’s apprehensively raised one as they swung off their bikes and took in the large black door in front of them.

 

“They can wait outside,” a large bald man sporting a Ghoulie tattoo on the side of his skull says as he fills the doorway, pointing to Jughead as he orders,“only you.”

 

“Do you think we’re fucking stupid-“

 

Sweet Pea’s outburst is immediately silenced by Jughead’s steel gaze and Toni rolls her eyes, huffing an irritated,  _“idiot,”_ under her breath.

 

After strapping his helmet tightly to his bike and nodding to his fellow Serpents, Jughead steps in line behind the burly Ghoulie, the chilly night air of Riverdale only intensified by the steel hallway he’s stepped into.

 

Darkness and the stench of cold metal assault his senses as they walk, suddenly aware of the second man that has fallen into step behind him.

 

Fear is a child’s emotion, he reminds himself of the words uttered to him too many times by his father, but unease has settled into the pit of his stomach and his fingers itch toward the cigarette tucked stealthily behind his ear.

 

A second door swings open to a warm light filling the room in front of him and causing Jughead to blink rapidly as his eyes adjust. Cigarette smoke has created a haze over the seemingly empty den, albeit for a new pool table and several leather bound chairs. He can see a small bar set up to one side of the room, a glass bottle of aged whiskey with a matching pair of glasses resting.

 

“You fuckers win the lottery and forget to share the wealth?”

 

“You could say that,” the man who had entered the room behind Jughead chuckles, immediately receiving a swift punch to the gut from his wannabe Die Hard partner.

 

 A thin woman with eyes as black as the nail polish adorning her long nails stands from her leather chair, turning to offer Jughead a welcoming smile that's anything but.

 

 _Yikes._   

 

“The Serpent Prince,” her voice is laced with a haughty boredom that only serves to piss Jughead off as she flips her deep red hair behind her, “how nice of you to finally _grace_ us with your presence.”

 

“Who the hell are you?”

 

“Cheryl Blossom,” she says it as though her name is supposed to mean something to him and when it clearly doesn’t, her lips purse in annoyance, “our leader will be joining us shortly.”

 

“You can let him know,” Jughead says through gritted teeth, “that I’m not one to _wait._ ”

 

Her empty laughter doesn’t reach her eyes and he shivers at the sound until she reaches out to him, palm up, “weapon, please.”

 

Jughead is the one to chuckle coldly this time and her eyes flash, though her palm remains outstretched.

 

“Why the fuck would I give you my weapon?” He’d quickly swallowed his lie about not being strapped, guessing she was more intelligent than Dumb and Dumber in the hallway.

 

“Hand over the weapon,  _bellycrawler.”_

 

The insult is not lost on Jughead and he smirks, reaching in his waistband as more of a threat than an act of surrender.

 

“Enough, Cheryl,” the voice that rings out over the staircase causes Jughead’s hand to drop from his waistband, his eyes shifting slowly from the she-devil in front of him to the new Ghoulie leader peering down at them from the top step, “that’s not how we treat our guest of _honor._ ”

 

Color drains from his face as one strained word falls from his lips, cracking as it hits the air,

 

“Betty?”


	2. Whiskey Sour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty Cooper is nothing if not attracted to the wrong side of the tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU: 
> 
> No Man's Land: a piece of land unclaimed by any gang, peaceful territory 
> 
> Gaslight District: A nightclub situated in No Man's Land, infamous for peaceful intermingling gang interaction

Jughead Jones.

 

Bald. Beer belly. Late 30’s. Neck beard. Probably some dumb ass tattoo referring to his unconventional nickname (or is that his _actual_ name? Christ.) splayed across his neck. Teeth missing from instigating too many fights. 

 

This is who Betty had imagined when she’d received the call that Jughead Jones, son of the infamous Serpent King, FP Jones, had stepped up and taken control of the Serpents.

 

She had certainly not been expecting the man who stands before her now, fingers running through his wild jet black curls as his eyes flash with the realization of her betrayal.

 

Okay, so betrayal is a bit strong. She'd only met the guy once.

 

Cheryl’s flair for the dramatics is clearly starting to rub off on her.

 

This is the type of guy you pass on the street and steal a glance at over your shoulder to see if the back’s got as much going on as the front. He’s all kinds of bad wrapped up in a leather jacket and her rival gang affiliation fades to background noise as Betty watches him, bottom lip trapped between her teeth, shaking his head, his gaze lifting to meet hers.

 

Betty Cooper is nothing if not attracted to the wrong side of the tracks.

 

“Retract the fangs, Serpent-” the word _scum_ is on the tip of her tongue, a familiar way to belittle their rival gang ingrained in her vocabulary since childhood, but instead, _“Prince_. You are in no danger here.”

 

“Yet,” Cheryl hisses, withdrawing her open palm and turning with a flourishing flip of her hair as she exits the large room.

 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he breathes, tugging the cigarette from behind his ear and lighting it quickly, as though the matte black lighter is an extension of his fingers.

 

Betty doesn’t do cigarettes, but the way the smoke falls from his lips, his eyes lifted to the ceiling as he slowly regains himself, has a warmth pooling between her legs.

 

“I’ve asked you here,” she continues as she makes her way to where he stands, shaking her head slightly as if to physically shake her less-than-pure and completely-beneath-her thoughts of bedding a snake, “because we need to talk about the Southside.”

 

She pours herself a glass of whiskey, a drink that’s been deemed hers since high school, and offers him one.

 

“Oh no,” he laughs coldly, shaking his head, “don’t try tempting me with that shit again.”

 

She smiles at his reference to their first meeting, lifting the glass to her lips before continuing, “the Ghoulies would like to stake claim over their half of the Southside. Our previous imbecile leaders who lost that territory are dead now, and I would like to take back what is rightfully ours.”

 

Jughead laughs loudly this time, taking a long drag from his cigarette as if to seriously ponder the idea before he shakes his head and steps closer to Betty, “I don’t think so, Cooper. The Southside _belongs_ to the Serpents.”

 

“The Serpents _stole_ the Southside.”

 

His eyes flash at the insinuation but Betty’s hardly fazed, taking another sip of her whiskey as if they’re simply having a factual chat, “you can keep your trailer trash and that disgusting establishment you call a bar.”

 

“If you think for one fucking second I’m going to let some band of misfits playing gang-life stake claim over _any_ part of the Southside,” Jughead says, his voice laced with warning, but Betty waves her hand irritably.

 

“Fine,” she snaps, setting down her glass and closing the space between them, “but you’re making a grave mistake on behalf of your men, Serpent Prince.”

 

“An hour in my bar on a Friday night,” his voice is low, barely above a whisper as he reaches behind her to put out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray, his gaze never leaving her own, “wasn’t even a _taste_ of what the Serpents are capable of, Ghoulie Queen.”

 

Betty’s tongue drags across her bottom lip as a smirk replaces his threatening glare, his eyes dropping to her lips for a split second before lifting to meet her eyes once more.

 

“I think I know exactly what the Serpents are capable of, but I love a good surprise,” she whispers, her own lips curving into a replicative smirk, _“bottom feeder.”_

 

“The nicknames are cute,” he grins, turning to head back through the large door blocking the exit, glancing over his shoulder to say, “but I’ll personally ensure you’re dead before you ever take the Southside. Remember that.”

 

She watches him retreat, a swift exhale leaving her as the door slams shut behind him and she quickly waves away her bodyguards.

 

A moment alone to finish her drink after that unsuccessful conversation is all Betty needs.

 

“Damn,” she hears Kevin, a Ghoulie Betty had grown up with, call from the balcony, “he is _delicious._ I thought the Serpents were supposed to be disgusting?”

 

“They are,” Cheryl snaps, her face twisted in a grimace as she walks in through the door that leads to their own bar, a cosmopolitan gripped grimly in her hand, “Gremlins. All of them.”

 

“You think all men are 'gremlins,' Blossom, your opinion hardly counts,” Kevin teases as he heads downstairs and Betty rolls her eyes, fighting a small smile.

 

“The Serpents want a territory war,” she finally states, casually sitting down in one of the armchairs, “no deal was reached.”

 

“Yeah, we heard,” Kevin sighs, rubbing the back of his neck before wiggling his eyebrows at Betty, “actually, we heard _a lot.”_

 

“Kev-”

 

“It's true, Ghoulie Queen," Cheryl teases, using the name Jughead had used only moments before, through a clenched smile next to Kevin, "it's truly  _miraculous_ you weren't on your knees the second he walked through that door."

 

“Enough,” Betty snaps, standing and hoping her two now fiercely giggling comrades don’t notice the heat creeping up her neck, “I will handle this and a deal will be made, or a war will have to be waged. We’re going to Gaslight this weekend.”

 

Kevin glances at Cheryl, his eyes still watering from laughter now alight with the promise of a night out at their favorite spot in No Man’s Land.

 

“Besides, sleeping with a Serpent is strictly forbidden, a law you two _clearly_ need to be reminded of. _”_

 

She sets her glass next to her newly opened bottle of whiskey and turns to head upstairs, not noticing the raised eyebrows and knowing grins shared between Cheryl and Kevin.

* * *

“This is Betty.”

 

“How did it go?”

 

A long sigh slips from her lips as she leans against the edge of her filling clawfoot bathtub, peeling off her knee-highs one at a time, “we didn’t come to an agreement.”

 

“Of course not. The Serpents will settle for nothing without bloodshed.”

 

The bruises littering Betty’s body are healing, but too slowly, and she has to put the phone on speaker in order to undress and slip into the scalding bath water.

 

“He’s...an idiot.”

 

“Just like his _father_. Did you see him?”

 

“Who?”

 

 _“FP,_ Betty.”

 

“Only at the bar the other night.”

 

“And? How did he look?”

 

Betty’s eyebrows furrow as she breathes slowly in through her nose and out of her mouth, a breathing technique meant to calm her anxiety she had learned long ago. _What?_

 

“Like a man enjoying retirement,” Betty huffs, resting her head against her bathtub pillow, itching to end the conversation.

 

“Don’t let your guard down around Jughead, Betty,” Alice warns and Betty can almost picture her mother grimacing at the thought, “those men are snakes for a reason.”

 

“Noted, Mother.”

 

Her eyes close as her mother rambles on about something or other before taking the hint and hanging up the phone, leaving Betty in what feels to her like a much deserved silence only broken by the soft _pit pat_ of water droplets falling from the bath faucet.

 

Her thoughts consume her as she sinks below the surface of the water, keeping only her head and hands above. Taking control of the Ghoulies and then effectively cleaning house had happened so quickly, she hadn’t gotten the chance to truly think about what she had accomplished thus far.

 

Men she had grown up with sneering at her as she’d taken the brutal beating initiating her from a common member to their leader. The final blow to her ribcage sending her to her knees, but she’d wanted this for _too_ long.

 

She’d stood in front of those cruel men and accepted the position.

 

Then she had offered those same men the freedom to drop their jackets and walk away from the Ghoulies, or face a very slow and painful death of her choice.

 

Most men had chosen the latter.

 

She'd quickly blocked any thoughts bearing witness to the two  men who had chosen death, their allegiance to who the Ghoulies used to be unwavering.  

 

Of course, this didn’t include all of the Ghoulies’ members. There were a select few she had kept on for security and the simple fact that they would need numbers in order to take back the Southside from their sworn enemies.

 

She now finds herself feeling envious of how easy Jughead has it, his position of authority given to him because of his father.

 

And as her thoughts drift beyond what an arrogant, undeserving hothead she finds him to be, her fingers drift below the water’s surface to satisfy a need she’d had since she’d ordered a whiskey at the Whyte Wyrm last week...

* * *

The air of the club is thick with hard liquor, cigarette smoke, and the sweat of the dancers pressed together on the floor below. Betty’s eyes are peeled for any leather adorning the bright green emblem of the Serpents, needing to prove to herself and the members who are now loyal to her leadership that she can cut this deal and regain what was once theirs.

 

Gaslight District is a nightclub settled two cities a way in what is fondly known amongst the gangs of the area as No Man’s Land. A territory unclaimed by any gang, a peaceful slot of land where drugs can be tried and traded, members can become acquainted, and alliances can be made. This, all amongst gangs who normally only deal in violence.

 

Leather jackets are everywhere, emblems Betty hardly recognizes moving past her towards the bar and the dance floor. Kevin had immediately wandered to the third floor, an unaffiliated bartender he knows _particularly_  well working a shift there.

 

Betty leans against the end of the bar, although less busy, the music is pounding and the heat radiating up from the dance floor is causing the bottom of her hair to stick to her neck with sweat. She sets her whiskey sour down next to her and pulls her hair up into a tight ponytail, sighing with the relief and comfort the small change brings.

 

“So, you really are a Ghoulie, huh?”

 

Betty immediately turns to the raven-haired girl next to her, one she vaguely remembers from the night in the Whyte Wyrm. The girl motions to the bartender who’s spotted her amongst the crowd and nods quickly.

 

The girl’s fingers reach over, tugging Betty’s dress strap and leather jacket lapel to the side, revealing her small but noticeable Ghoulie tattoo inked along her collarbone.

 

“What about you? You’ve seen mine, now show me yours,” Betty says, pulling away from the girl’s touch but she only shakes her head, reaching out to grab the vodka tonic that had been slid her way.

 

“I don’t do branding and I’m not a Serpent.”

 

“No?”

 

“No. I’m Veronica Lodge, daughter of Hi- it doesn't matter. While I stand with the Serpents, I don’t sport their leather..or their tats.”

 

"Then you're one of their Serpents' ladies?"

 

"No," Veronica says quickly, turning away from Betty and taking a large sip of her drink, which makes Betty laugh lightly.

  

"Ooookay then, I'm Betty Cooper." 

 

“I know who you are,” Veronica smiles, shaking her head, “I’m pretty sure Jughead has replaced the word _fuck_ with your name.”

 

“Has he now?” Betty laughs, sipping her drink and letting her eyes drift down to the dance floor once more, “and where is your infamous leader tonight?”

 

"Miss me already, Cooper?"

 

Betty turns away from Veronica to find Jughead leaning against the counter on her other side, a newly opened beer in his hand and a cheeky smile on his face.

 

“That’s my cue!" Veronica calls out, quickly disappearing from the bar to talk to a taller Serpent whose eyes hadn't left Veronica since she'd come up to the bar. 

 

“I haven’t heard anything from the Serpents regarding the deal we spoke about,” she starts to say, attempting to ignore the way he steps closer to her and tilts his head down in an effort to hear her over the base of the dance music, a sign of respect she hadn't expected. 

 

“I had assumed I’d made the Serpents’ stance on that ‘deal’ pretty clear,” his voice is low and she has to move onto her tippy toes just slightly to hear him, “the Ghoulies can have the Southside over my _dead_ body.”

 

“I’d love to have that arranged,” Betty retorts, pulling away from him to see him laugh, shaking his head as he reaches for his beer.

 

“I don’t think you would, actually,” he grins smugly and she narrows her eyes at him as he continues, “you stare at me more than the last three girls’ I’ve fucked, _combined_.”

 

" _You've_ fucked three girls?" she laughs in disbelief, rolling her eyes, before taking a long sip of her drink, “well, I certainly hope you gave those girls a proper ride to the clinic after, I don't even want to know what they got from you.”

 

He leans down again, until his lips are close to her ear, his breath hot as he murmurs, “nothing but a good time, I can _assure_ you.”

 

She stares at him as he presses his beer to his lips, her cheeks growing pink under his gaze.  _Did he mean three girls total? Or three girls lately? Or three girls at once?_ _He must be lying. Not that she cares. Besides, she hardly even looks at him,_  she thinks as she tears her eyes away from his almost blackened blue eyes, to the dance floor where she immediately spots a familiar head of bright red hair swishing on the dance floor.

 

Cheryl is moving her body to the intense beat of the music in the middle, swinging her voluminous red curls around her as the multi-colored lights swirl about.

 

But that’s not what has Betty’s eyebrows furrowed. And it’s not the way Cheryl’s body is pressed against that of another woman’s, her fingers pressed against her taut bare midriff.

 

It’s the fact that the woman she’s gyrating against is that of Toni Topaz, the only known female Serpent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone, thank you for your patience with me on posting this new chapter! I hope you are enjoying where this is going, a little bad ass betty vs. bad ass juggie and a lot of blurred lines. 
> 
> please leave me a comment if you'd like, I love hearing your thoughts! ❤


	3. Whiskey On the Rocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This means war.

“Relax, _Betts,_ they’re only dancing.”

 

The nickname rolls off his tongue a little _too_ easily and he winces, motioning to the bartender for two shots of something stronger than the ice cold Corona he’s just finished.

 

Her eyes, once fixated on the way her Ghoulie member’s fingers are pressed against Toni’s exposed hip bones as they gyrate to the pounding beats of the music, are now locked on his, an amused smirk on her face.

 

“Wow…' _Betts_ ,’” she repeats, laughing lightly as she takes one of the shots the bartender has just slid their way, “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you like me.”

 

Jughead scoffs, throwing back his own shot and internally cursing himself for letting that shit slip. _Betts? Christ._

 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you want me to like you,” he teases, regaining his composure and leaning casually against the bar counter as his own signature smirk rivals the one playing on her face.

 

“I do actually,” she says, slamming her now empty shot glass onto the countertop, before leaning forward to whisper, hot against his ear, “because your feelings for me are making you _weak.”_

 

His eyebrows are raised, but before he can come back with what needs to be a harsh rejection before he gets himself in trouble, she’s headed onto the dance floor.

 

As fierce and brutal as Betty appears to be, she’s in no way prepared for the fuckin’ beatdown Toni will unleash if she pussyblocks her and Jughead immediately heads into the swarm of sweaty inebriated bodies after her.

 

Betty’s hand wraps around her Ghoulie’s upper arm, effectively yanking her away from Toni and Toni’s eye flash in her direction. A slew of angry violent words are exchanged between Betty and the redhead, but she’s soon pushing past him with her right hand in tow.

 

Toni makes to go after them and Jughead reaches out, his hand wrapping around his Serpent sister’s toned leather-covered bicep.

 

“Jones, fuck off-”

 

“Topaz,” his voice is laced with warning, barely heard above the electric sound of the music, “you’re in No Man’s Land, you know the laws.”

 

“I don’t give a fuck about the _laws_ ,” she snaps, ripping her arm out of his grasp and heading off the dance floor, making eye contact with Sweet Pea on her way out.

 

_Shit._

 

He's about to run after her when a girl in a tight crop top and shorts falls against him, her arms wrapping around his neck, hips swinging to the beat and Jughead’s eyes trail down what he can see of her exposed body.

 

Two weeks ago, he would’ve considered accepting the invitation, his hands falling to her lower back, pressing her body flush against his own.

 

A bandage for the wound that loneliness has left seeping.

 

But tonight, he’s only interested in a woman who’d rather see him dead than in bed and he’s definitely blaming that on the tequila.

 

Carefully unhooking the girl’s arms, he pushes her lightly into one of her friends and shoves his way through the dancers towards the exit.

 

Sweet Pea had dipped out this same exit only moments before and Jughead can only imagine what’s going on outside. That _Criminal Minds_ bingefest and large bacon and pepperoni pizza he had originally planned for tonight beginning to sound more and more appetizing.

 

“Ghoulies have always been nothing but a joke to us and now you think because some pretty white bitch is in charge, we’re supposed to take you seriously?”

 

Betty’s standing with her arms crossed, eyebrow raised, toe to toe with Sweet Pea whose mimicking her stance.

 

“I don’t give a fuck if you take us seriously or not,” Betty snaps as Jughead saunters up to where the two gangs are facing off, gauging the level of need for him to intervene as she continues, “I give it a month before you’re all begging to rep Ghoulie colors.”

 

Sweet Pea laughs along with the rest of the Serpents, his eyes flashing as he steps closer to her, closing the space between them and Jughead immediately makes to move in front of her.

 

“What seems to be the problem here?”

 

A flashlight shines on the group from a car with flashing red and blue lights and Jughead groans inwardly.

 

“Hello! I asked a question and I won’t repeat myself again! What’s going on here?”

 

“Yeah, we fucking heard you, Andrews,” Jughead snaps, holding up his hand in front of his eyes to keep from being blinded, “we’re just having a conversation.”

 

“It’s _Officer_ Andrews to you, Mr. Jones,” the redhead says, stepping out from behind the passenger door of his police vehicle and adjusting his badge. The officer’s eyes drift across the scene as he steps closer and Jughead doesn’t miss the way his eyes linger on Betty’s taut and somewhat scantily clad form.

 

Eyes narrowing, he shoves his hands in his pockets as he fights the urge to block her from Andrews’ view.

 

“Is there a problem here, Miss…?” he flashes one of those sparkling Heisman trophy winner smiles in her direction and if Jughead hadn’t already been pissed off, seeing Betty’s lips form a small, flirtatious smile, has certainly done the fucking job.

 

“Cooper...but you can call me Betty.”

 

Jughead rolls his eyes, running his fingers through his hair irritatedly.

 

“ _Betty,”_ how one elongates a fucking two syllable name is beyond Jughead, “I'm Officer Andrews, but you can call me Archie. Is there a problem here-”

 

“ _Christ,_ there’s not a fucking problem here! Don’t you have some parking tickets to issue or some shit, Andrews?”

 

“ **Officer** Andrews,” Archie corrects again, glaring at Jughead like a pouting three year old and Jughead’s ready to be done with this conversation.

 

“We’re literally just talking, _Officer Andrews.”_

 

“Archie,” Betty says suddenly, turning to him and flashing him a smile that sets Jughead on edge, “do you mind if we talk by your squad car?”

 

He seems surprised by this, but a wide accommodating smile quickly lights up his face and he motions for her to follow him.

 

Jughead’s eyes narrow as he watches her talk to him, giggling at one point, which only serves to infuriate him and he turns around, his back to the situation unfolding by the squad car.

 

“So, I never actually got your name,” Toni is saying softly next to him, her fingers playing with the end of one of the Ghoulie’s red curls and the Ghoulie bites her lip, smiling ever so slightly.

 

“It’s Cheryl,” she says and Toni smiles back, dropping the curl from her fingers and reaching into her back pocket for her phone. Cheryl quickly covers the phone with her hand and shakes her head.

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t…” she motions to the Ghoulie tattoo on the inside of her wrist and Toni winces, a flash of pain in her eyes that Jughead has never seen before. He suddenly feels as though he’s invading a rather personal conversation and drags his eyes back to where Betty is walking towards them.

 

Archie is back in his squad car, his partner backing up from the scene, the blue and red lights no longer lighting up the part of the parking lot they are standing in.

 

“Ghoulies, let’s go,” she motions towards a black car that is parked waiting for them and Jughead and Sweet Pea both step up at the same time.

 

“Betty, what-”

 

“What the fuck?”

 

Betty dismisses them with a wave of her hand as Cheryl looks down, glancing back at Betty before leaning forward and pressing a quick soft bright red lipstick covered kiss to Toni’s cheek. She smiles at her one last time before turning and walking towards her leader, whose eyes are fixated on Jughead.

 

He tilts his head back, his gaze never leaving hers. Two new leaders of gangs who have been a permanent presence in Riverdale for years. Only nothing is the same as it once was and there’s an understanding forming between them that he doesn’t quite understand.

 

All he knows is that he’s supposed to hate her, but he finds himself respecting her and her position.

 

And that she’s fucking beautiful.

 

“What did I miss?” a Ghoulie grins as he walks up, running his fingers through his clearly ruffled hair before he realizes he’s standing amongst Serpents and quickly heads to the car Betty’s just slid into.

* * *

“Nice of you to finally join us, Serpent Prince.”

 

The last fucking voice Jughead wants to hear when he manages to get out of bed the next morning is Sweet Pea’s and he instantly clenches his fists in an effort to keep from breaking his nose.

 

Or for preparation to break his nose. It’s too early in the day to make that decision.  

 

He glances from Sweet Pea to where Toni is sitting on a bar stool, her arms folded with a chipped mug of hot coffee sitting in front of her. Fangs, another Serpent that has made his way into Jughead’s inner circle, is standing by the entrance with his own arms folded across his chest.

 

“What the hell is this?” Jughead snaps, reaching for the pot of coffee and pouring himself a cup. The Whyte Wyrm doesn’t open for a few more hours and he had expected a quiet morning of assessing paperwork from their sales, not some bullshit that looks like an intervention. Or a mutiny.

 

“We need to discuss the Ghoulies,” Sweet Pea says, eyeing the way Jughead is almost chugging the steaming cup of black coffee like a psychopath before he continues, “they’re a problem and we need to end them _now_.”

 

“A problem? I’m not aware of any moves being made on their side,” Jughead counters, setting the mug down and leaning against the bar top. His eyes land on Toni who looks concerned and it reminds him of the way her eyes had flashed when he’d kept her from Cheryl last night.

 

The rivalry between the Serpents and the Ghoulies was growing more and more complicated.

 

“Why are we waiting for them to make a threat? Let’s end this now,” Sweet Pea grins, glancing back at a nodding Fangs, gathering all the support he needs, “make a real statement.”

 

“Serpents bite when baited, Sweet Pea, and they’ve been silent thus far,” Jughead snaps, lifting his mug to his lips again before adding, “we wait. That’s final.”

 

“Fuck that. Serpents bite when they know there’s an enemy close by, I say we make a statement and end this shit before it even starts. I’m tired of them walking around the Southside like _we_ should be afraid.”

 

“This is why you’re not the Serpents leader,” Jughead says, his voice low as he sets his mug down and steps toward Sweet Pea, “you’re hot headed and hell bent on violence and revenge.”

 

“Better than hell bent on getting Ghoulie pussy.”

 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

 

“We’re not stupid, Jughead, we can see the way you look at her,” Sweet Pea spits, only inches from Jughead’s face, “the _Ghoulie Queen.”_

 

Jughead laughs coldly before shoving him, _hard._ Sweet Pea’s eyes blacken and Jughead cocks his head to one side, ready for a fight.

 

“Enough,” Toni says, walking between them before she turns to Sweet Pea and whispers, “Let. It. Go.”

 

His gaze doesn’t leave Jughead’s for another minute before he shakes his head in disgust and makes to walk out of the Whyte Wyrm, turning only to spit, “we’re going to lose the Southside because of you, _traitor,_ ” before he’s slamming the door.

 

In that moment, Veronica walks out of Sweet Pea’s bedroom that’s located just down the hallway from the bar and smiles at everyone sheepishly as she tugs on the oversized black t-shirt she’s wearing, making her way to the coffee pot, “good morning!”

* * *

There is one grocery store located in the Southside and Jughead is slowly becoming acquainted with it. Living off of pizza, burgers, and cigarettes can only be doing some serious damage at this point and he knows he needs to start picking up some kind of vegetable. At least once in a while.

 

That’s why he’s found himself riding the backroads of the Southside, headed to pick up some baby carrots and a box of Cap’n Crunch (a compromise really). The roads are barren as usual and he finds the freedom exhilarating, revving the engine of his bike at a stop sign he’d decided to comply with before taking off with a jump.

 

But as soon as he spots the black tinted windows of a black car he recognizes parked on the side of the road, he slams on his brake and skids to a stop.

 

She’s sitting on the hood of the car looking at her phone, before she whips her head around at the sound of his bike.

 

“Need some assistance?” He’s already pulling off his helmet, a cocky grin spreading across his face as she hops down from the car.

 

“Not from you,” she scoffs, but he notices the way she’s tugging her jacket closer around her body, the chill of the evening air clearly in disagreement with her apparent lack of need for help.

 

He rolls his eyes and sets his helmet on his bike seat, walking over to lift the hood of the car.

 

“The battery’s dead,” she says, pressing the hood down so he can’t lift it, “I’m not a damsel in distress, Snake Charmer, I’ve got this.”

 

“Cigarette?” He’s tugging one from behind his ear now, his lighter already in hand. If anything, the smoke will warm her up a bit before the tow truck comes to give her a jump.

 

“I don’t smoke.”

 

Taking a long drag, he nods, exhaling slowly and glancing down the empty road. She’s watching him, her mouth slightly parted as the smoke tumbles from his mouth and wraps around them in a soft gray cloud.

 

He knows he should leave now. She clearly doesn’t need his help and he has no reason to stay. Shit, he had no reason to stop in the first place. His eyes fall back to her and he feels his heart pound slightly when he sees she’s already looking at him, her gaze steady and weighted.

 

“This is a mess, Jughead.”

 

Her voice is soft and her eyes fall to the ground, making him wish he could wrap his arms around her in a protective hug. He’d never seen her look vulnerable, soft even, and it was twisting his dark Serpent heart in ways he had never even wanted to experience before this.

 

“What is?” smoke drifts from his lit cigarette and he lifts it back to his lips, inhaling gently, hoping the smoke will ease his heightened emotions.

 

“This. Us. The Ghoulies and the Serpents.”

 

Her eyes flit down the empty road and his eyes follow hers, beginning to wonder if she had even called a tow truck to begin with, or if she had just wanted to sit out here by herself for a while, escape.

 

Making a rash decision, he turns, grabbing his helmet and offering it to her.

 

“Take a ride with me, Cooper.”

 

Her eyebrows immediately furrow as she takes a step back, her mouth twisting into a grimace, “I can’t be seen with you. It’s a complete betrayal.”

 

He tosses his cigarette to the ground and sets the helmet on the hood of her car, stepping closer to her but reminding himself to keep his hands off of her. Asking her to ride with him was already crossing a line and he didn’t want to push her any farther.

 

“We’ll ride towards No Man’s Land, no one will see us.”

 

“Why would I want to go anywhere with you?”

 

He sighs, running his fingers through his hair, anything to convince her...anything...and then, “we can talk about the Southside. A compromise.”

 

She glances around him, biting her bottom lip thoughtfully for what feels like ten minutes before she walks past him and opens her trunk, pulling out a long cream colored coat.

 

“Fine, but I’m not taking any risks,” she says finally, sliding into the coat so that her Ghoulie patchwork is hidden away. He grins, offering her the helmet once more.

 

“I swear, Jughead Jones, if you take me out to some backwoods trashy parking lot and murder me, I’m going to come back and haunt your shit forever.”

 

He laughs, getting back on his bike, the engine rumbling beneath his legs as she climbs on. Her arms wrap around his waist tentatively at first, but when he kicks the stand up and revs the engine her grip tightens, the front of her body pressed against the back of his.

 

It feels good to be riding towards the outskirts of the Southside, leaving his responsibilities and the current turmoil brewing amongst the Serpents behind. Her grip has remained tight against him, but he feels the way her shoulders slump just ever so slightly, as if she’s relaxing against him.

 

He doesn’t want to think about the way that makes him...or his body...feel.

 

They ride for what feels like forever before he’s confident they won’t be running into anyone familiar and pulls into a diner much like his favorite in Riverdale, Pop’s. The cold darkness of night has fallen on them now and the glow from the diner only looks more inviting because of it.

 

“Hungry?” he asks as she pulls off the helmet, smoothing back the golden strands that have fallen from her ponytail. He wants to reach out and brush the loose tendrils behind her ear, but instead shoves his hands inside his jacket pockets.

 

“A bit,” she says, a small smile playing on her lips as she glances at the diner.

 

It’s empty sans for a couple engaged in heated whispers and Jughead makes for the opposite end of the restaurant, sliding into a booth and feeling almost relieved when she slides into the booth across from him.

 

A petite waitress walks up with a hot pot of coffee and two mugs, setting them down and smiling at Jughead as she pours the coffee.

 

“I’ll give you two a minute,” she says happily, her eyes trailing down and lingering on the exposed skin of his collarbone, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, before turning and heading back to the kitchen.

 

Betty’s eyebrow is cocked and it almost makes him laugh, sticking his tongue in his cheek instead.

 

“Jealous, Betts?”

 

She laughs at that, glancing at the small menu and shaking her head, “not as jealous as you were when _Officer Andrews_ stopped us.”

 

He huffs, rolling his eyes, “I wasn’t jealous, that guy’s an idiot.”

 

She smirks, setting down her menu as the waitress saunters back over, tossing a smile at Jughead before turning to Betty.

 

“What can I get you, hon?”

 

“I’ll have a stack of blueberry pancakes, thank you.”

 

She jots that down and turns to Jughead who proceeds to order what feels like half the menu, the vegetables he had planned to purchase from the grocery store long forgotten.

 

“So,” Betty starts, clasping the warm mug of coffee between her hands and taking a small sip as soon as the waitress makes her way back to the kitchen, “have you finally come to your senses and realized the Ghoulies should run the Southside?”

 

Always business with her.

 

“How did you become a Ghoulie?” he asks, leaning forward, his curiosity about her and who she is getting the best of him.

 

She watches him carefully for a moment and he can feel her gauging how much she’s willing to tell.

 

“I was born one.” 

 

“Lie,” he murmurs, shaking his head but keeping his gaze locked on hers, “you’re lying.”

 

She sets the coffee mug down and smiles slightly, “let’s play a game, Juggie. Two truths and a lie.”

 

A hint of nostalgia tugs at the back of his mind, their first meeting and the playful game that had ensued bringing a genuine yet small smile to his face.

 

“My father was a Ghoulie, I have no relational ties to the Ghoulies at all, and I actually left Riverdale to get away from the Ghoulies when I was 17.”

 

He’s watching her, the way her hands clasp the heated mug of coffee, the way she bites her bottom lip to keep from smiling, her bright green eyes falling to a few crumbs scattered on the table left over from the previous patron.

 

“You don’t like rules.”

 

She sets her mug down, both eyebrows raised now before she asks, “what do you mean?”

 

“I mean,” he says, sitting back in his seat and tilting his chin up, his gaze falling on her, “everything you just said was a lie.”

 

She opens her mouth to reply, but the food arrives, set down steaming in front of them.

 

“Tell me your favorite color,” he says, offering her a friendly smile as he douses his pancakes in blueberry syrup. He can tell anything gang-related is putting her on edge and he can’t lie, he wants to get to know her beyond the leather she wears.

 

“Navy blue,” she says softly, biting into her pancake and he can see her physically relax, the strain that was in her neck only moments before now settled.

 

Wincing, he’s starting to notice more about her now that they’re sitting together under the revealing lights of the diner. The dark circles under her eyes tell him how tired she is, the way she holds her body gently and carefully tells him she’s healing, probably having suffered a cruel ritual initiation, and the way she eats, apprehensively and with small bites tells him her appetite is nearly non-existent.

 

“Yours?” she asks, before adding teasingly, a playful grin on her face as she reaches for her mug, “and don’t tell me it’s that heinous Serpent green.”

 

He returns her grin with a wide smile of his own, swallowing a large bite of hash browns before replying, “black.”

 

“Such a cliche,” she laughs, shaking her head and resting back against the booth seat, watching him eat a large bite of pancakes before she asks, “favorite holiday?”

 

He has to think about this one, his childhood and family life making him more inclined to respond with ‘none,’ but instead he says, “Thanksgiving.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“The food,” he winks at her, but he’s bluffing. He hasn’t had a true, traditional Thanksgiving dinner since before he could even remember and he wonders if she can tell he’s lying as easily as he can tell with her, “what about you?”

 

Her eyes have narrowed slightly, studying him, but she doesn’t comment, only says, “New Year’s Eve.”

 

“The parties?” He guesses, feeling his heart dropping slightly at the third of one small pancake she’s eaten.

 

“The facade of a fresh start,” she says, and there’s a flash of hope in her eyes that is quickly diminished as she leans forward, “what are we going to do about the Southside, Jughead?”

 

His fork clatters to his empty plate as he leans back his eyes settled on her plate for a second before he can’t stand it anymore, “you’re not going to eat more?”

 

“I ate before we came.”

 

He sighs, biting his lip before he lifts his eyes to hers, “you don’t have to do that, Betty. At least not right now, here.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Put up this front,” he says, his voice softer than he’s heard in years. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip as he watches her, knowing he’s only used this gentle of a tone with one person before this.

 

His little sister, Jellybean.

 

“I’m not hungry,” she finally admits, pushing the plate away from her and he nods. Finally, some fucking honesty.

 

“I’m willing to compromise on the Southside,” he finally says, knowing that relaying this message back to his Serpents will probably end up in some kind of mutiny, but he has a feeling she’s not afraid of bloodshed and he can’t imagine losing one of his brothers to something like this, “You can have the half that your lair lays on. We keep the Whyte Wyrm, the trailer park, and the northern half.”

 

She seems to think about it, her eyes downcast for a moment before she sighs, her voice defeated, “we need half the trailer park. We need housing for some of our newer members.”

 

Flashbacks of his own homelessness at varying points of his life has him immediately agreeing, “done.”

 

He reaches his hand across the table and she slips her hand into his, ignoring the heat radiating off the tight grip. His gaze meets hers and she smiles, a real genuine smile that makes his heart feel as though it’s glowing in the absolutely most _cliche_ way before she slowly drops his hand.

 

He pays for their meal, despite avid protests from Betty, and the ride back to the Southside is faster than he’d like it to be, her arms slung lazily around his abdomen as he whips along the streets of Southside.

 

But then he notices it at the same time that she does.

 

The Ghoulie’s Lair only a street away, large angry flames licking the sides of a barrel, a bonfire surrounded by people.

 

She motions for him to head that direction, but he doesn’t want to; his sudden need to afford her a few more moments of relaxed peace begging him to keep riding.

 

Jughead Jones needs that. But the Serpent leader in him know that she needs to go to her members, to provide resolution for whatever is going on.

 

He heads towards the driveway leading to their warehouse and his heart sinks deeper and deeper the closer they get. The “people” are all members of the Ghoulies and they’re not standing _around_ a bonfire, they’re all facing the entrance to their home, the bonfire lit behind them.

 

She gets off just as he slides to a stop, dropping his helmet to the gravel as she walks through the cloud of dust his bike stirred up and through a few of her Ghoulies, to the front of the crowd.

 

He catches up to her quickly, ignoring the glares her members are throwing at him as his fists clench, a blind rage beginning to course through his veins.

 

She stops and stares up at the large entrance of their Lair, her arms folded across her chest, their night on the town immediately rendered meaningless as she says, her voice barely above a deadly whisper, “we have no deal, snake. You have thirty seconds to get off Ghoulie property before I hang you from the Whyte Wyrm _myself_.”

 

Her threat barely registers in his mind.

 

He’s staring up at the large spray painted crowned snake emblem adorning the entire entrance wall to the Ghoulies Lair alongside a message you can read from the street scrawled in large, black graffiti:

 

“SERPENT TERRITORY.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone! thank you for being so patient with me on this update, I know it took a while! this fic is a lot of fun to write, a bit different then anything I have done before. let me know your thoughts in the comments, i love hearing them! ❤


	4. Cinnamon Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> same bar, entirely different circumstances.

_Jughead Jones_

_Serpent Prince_

 

“SWEET PEA.”

 

The seething anger laced through his voice slices through the heavy silence that sits amongst the thick smoke in the Whyte Wyrm.

 

His father turns his head from where the OG’s are seated at their usual high top, an eyebrow cocked in the direction of his fuming son.

 

But Jughead only has eyes for one son of a bitch in this bar.

 

A smirk is crossing his face in the same way that his arms are crossed lazily against his chest as he leans against the back wall of the Wyrm and Jughead can’t cross the dirty bar floor fast enough.

 

“Relax, Jones, it was only spray paint-” but Jughead’s fist collides with Sweet Pea’s face before he can finish his statement and he slumps against the wall, his hand flying to his now cracked nose.

 

Jughead fists the front of Sweet Pea’s blood splattered t-shirt, yanking him back to a standing position before slamming him against the wall and pinning him there with his forearm pressed firmly against his neck.

 

“The next time I have to remind you who the fuck’s running the Serpents, I’ll put you on the floor and _leave you there_.”

 

Sweet Pea’s eyes narrow, warm blood dripping between the fingers closed around his nose, but Jughead holds him pinned, his glare steady, until he _knows_ he gets it.

 

Then he removes his arm and allows his best friend to slump against the wall again before he turns to face the Serpents and their ladies who remain fixated by the unfolding situation.

 

“Anyone else need a reminder?”

 

The weight of the silence in the bar almost suffocates him, but he lets the moment become uncomfortable as he drags his gaze from one stunned member to the next before resting it on his father.

 

Whose lips are turned up in one of the most prideful smiles Jughead’s ever seen and he sighs inwardly, turning on his heel and heading to the back of the bar where his place is situated behind a door with an intricate series of locks.

Because of Sweet’s reckless and impulsive behavior, the Serpents will now have to sleep with one eye open, constantly in a state of uneasy wait for Ghoulie retaliation.

 

But what pisses Jughead off more than that is that because of Sweet’s reckless and impulsive behavior, he’s back to square fucking one with Betty.

* * *

  _Betty Cooper_

_Ghoulie Queen_

 

Betty Cooper has been running the Ghoulies for 17 days.

 

But to her, it feels like 17 _years._

 

She’s the first female to run the Ghoulies since they began so many years ago and the _only_ woman currently running a gang for a hundred miles around them in every direction.

 

The weight of these facts is not lost on her.

 

Nor is the fact that she has been initiated as the leader of a gang whose reputation has been nothing less than a joke for twenty years. The men that made up the gang only a couple of years ago being the worst offenders, doing nothing but fucking cheap women, drinking cheap alcohol, and destroying their own homes.

 

She knew it would be hard to rebuild the Ghoulies from the ground up, especially as a woman. But she had always loved a challenge and this was the roughest challenge she had ever encountered.

 

Until him.

 

He was a challenge wrapped up in a set of laws she could never break.

 

But she wanted to, fuck, she wanted to _so bad._

 

And that pissed her off more than the amateur graffiti tag her men were currently outside scrubbing off the front of Ghoulie Manor ever could.

 

“Betty!” the fist pounding against her bedroom door grew louder and louder until Betty couldn’t take it anymore and pulled the door open.

 

“Can I help you, Cheryl?”

 

“I certainly hope so,” Cheryl snaps, pushing past Betty and opening her fridge to pull out a bottle of wine Betty keeps for emergencies only.  

 

Sighing, Betty slams the door shut, twisting the lock before taking the filled glass Cheryl has set out for her and leaning against the counter.

 

“I need to talk to you about something.”

 

“I’m listening.”

 

“What were you doing on the back of Jones’ bike?”

 

The questions lingers between them for a moment too long and Betty takes a long sip of her wine, hoping the large cowl neck sweater she’s wearing hides the blush creeping up her neck.

 

“That’s really none of your business-”

 

“Actually, you made it _my business_ when you physically dragged me away from a Serpent I was only _dancing_ with.”

 

She sets her wine glass down, watching Cheryl carefully before her inner guilt gets the best of her, “you really like her, huh?”

 

Cheryl’s the one to take a long sip of her wine this time, flipping her hair over her shoulder before bringing her gaze back to Betty, “that doesn’t matter. Serpents and Ghoulies...it’s not allowed. Right?”

 

The tension between them is making Betty regret opening her door in the first place, but she holds Cheryl’s stare before her eyes flick to her glass and she responds, “right.”

 

Cheryl’s face falls slightly, for less than a second, before she takes another sip of her wine and returns to her usual unamused expression, “graffiti is total amateur hour. Were they joking, or was that supposed to be a warning?”

 

“I’m not sure, but we need to make the next move. And it needs to be big.”

 

“Injuries?”

 

Betty sighs, growing a bit uncomfortable. While she’s no stranger to the violence that runs deep amongst the Ghoulies and Serpents, she really didn’t want to have to take it to that level.

 

“I’ve got something in mind,” Betty finally says, glancing at Cheryl who is staring at her with eyebrows raised, “and we’ll just have to let the pieces fall where they may. Bring Kevin in.”

 

Cheryl nods, finishing her wine and pushing the glass towards the sink before hopping off the bar stool. She pauses at the door, her long nails lingering against the handle before she turns back to Betty.

 

“Do you think he set you up? Took you out so his snakes could tag the building in your absence?”

 

Betty’s eyes flash in her direction, her heart beating a bit _too_ quickly as she nods, “yes, that’s exactly what I think.”

* * *

_2:30AM, That Same Night_

 

What she’s planned for tonight is reckless in every single form of the word.

 

But it will force his hand, force the _Serpents’_ hand, and she’d had this plan in her back pocket for months, specifically pulling it out on the night she’d come to the bar for the first time.

 

She had seen the layout of the Whyte Wyrm, gauged how many Serpents were alive and well and how capable they had looked. The young and violent vs the old and wise. She’d noted the OG’s sitting at their high table, seated comfortably and drinking their ice cold beers without a care in the world.

 

And as she had made her way to the very far end of the bar, she’d caught a glance of the long hallway, lined with doors leading to supply closets and bedrooms, that stopped at a door with what appeared to be over 7 intricate locks.

 

The door to the Serpent Prince.

 

Now, she’s standing at the entrance door to a dark Whyte Wyrm, the loud music and chatter died down to an eerie silence since the CLOSED sign had been flipped a half hour ago.

 

Betty glances at her watch, noting the time, and runs her fingers through her loose blonde waves. She’s wearing the reddest lipstick she owns, the tightest black ensemble she owns, and she can’t help the flutter of butterflies dancing in her stomach as she raises her fist to pound on the door.

 

She’s here for a reason...but she can’t lie to herself when she finds herself thinking that she hopes he finds her...attractive tonight.

 

A moment passes and not a sound can be heard from inside the Wyrm, irritating Betty enough to raise her fist and knock harder and longer than before.

 

A few more seconds pass before she sees the lights flick on in the bar and a cursing male voice making his way to the entrance door.

 

“Can you not read? We’re fucking close-” Jughead stops short as he swings open the entrance door, but it’s Betty whose lost for words.

 

He’s clearly just rolled out of bed, his mess of dark waves currently being raked through by his hand and the dark circles under his eyes made more evident to her by the lack of distance between them.

 

But it’s the fact that he’s shirtless and covered in tattoos that makes her mouth fall open ever so slightly as her eyes drag along the smooth taut skin across his chest, painted with the most intricate of Serpent relatable details.

 

Her gaze falls down his toned abdomen to where his black sweats are hanging dangerously low on his hips and she immediately raises her eyes to his own.

 

He’s smirking, but there’s a darkness behind his gaze, a lust she’d never seen before as his eyes flicker briefly to her reddened pout (thank you Cheryl). A low whistle falls from his lips as he folds his arms across his chest, leaning against the door frame.

 

“I almost feel bad about breaking my buddy’s nose now,” he says, grinning at her furrowed brows, “we should tag your manor all the time if it means you’ll come crawling to the Wyrm looking like this.”

 

“Nobody’s _crawling_ anywhere,” she snaps, although that grin has her wondering what it would be like to make him truly laugh which pisses her off as she continues, “are you going to let me in? We need to talk.”

 

“Definitely not,” he says, his grin growing wider as he takes another opportunity to glance at her tight skirt revealing a little more thigh than she normally would allow, “you just threatened to hang me from this bar not even two days ago and then you show up here looking fine as hell and expect me to believe you’re just here to _talk?_ ”

 

“I would love to hang you from this bar,” she rolls her eyes, but finds herself smiling at him, “the Ghoulies have found the graffiti to be amateur at best. I’ve come to cut a real deal with the Serpents and end this feud before it needs to become violent.”

 

He watches her for another second and she almost wonders if their plan is already a complete fail before he sighs and steps to the side, allowing her entrance to the Wyrm.

 

“I know you’re lying, but I’ll take the bait,” he says, shutting the door behind her, “for now.”

 

“Great! Where is everyone else?”

 

He raises an eyebrow, glancing down the darkened hallway, “heavy night of drinking. Passed out, I’ll bet.”

 

“You’re not much of a drinker, then?”

 

He heads behind the bar, pulling out two of his nicest whiskey glasses and the bottle of the gold liquid he knows she loves, before shrugging, “I’ve seen what too much of a good thing can do to someone. I’d hate to become what too much of a _bad_ thing can do.”

 

In that moment, the way his shoulders slump at the mention of alcoholism and his eyes stare down into the glasses he’s pouring, she feels bad about what they’re doing to him and his men tonight.

 

But as the burn hits the back of her throat with her first sip, she doesn’t feel bad enough.

 

Her eyes fall to his tattooed skin once more as he takes his own sip, the sudden need to run her tongue along the script that lines his ribcage almost overwhelming her.

 

“So,” he breaks the silence and shrugs, “I’m listening. What do the Ghoulies want?”

 

“After this most recent debacle, we’d like everything I had asked for originally,” she responds, before adding, “and the Wyrm.”

 

He laughs, taking another sip of his whiskey before shaking his head, “the Serpents will never give up the Wyrm.”

 

“Those are our conditions.”

 

“Then you wasted your time coming here tonight, Betty.”

 

She stares at him as he leans against the bar counter, tugging a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with a lighter hidden under the bar.

 

“I hope the Serpents are armed with more than spray paint, because the Ghoulies will not be retaliating with mediocre child’s play.”

 

“Listen, princess,” he says, tilting his head up to blow the smoke falling from his mouth towards the ceiling, “that grafitti bullshit was not a command given by me. When I make a move, you’ll know.”

 

“Oh really?” she’s hopped down from the barstool now, slamming the rest of the drink back and sliding the glass towards him, “sounds like you don’t have control of your men, then.”

 

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth at that, Betty clearly having hit a nerve there, before he throws the rest of his drink back and glares at her.

 

“Who was it? Sweet Pea, huh? Not a big fan of his best friend’s leadership?” she’s taunting him and she can see the way his breathing is deepening, his eyes never leaving hers, “you must seem like such a traitor to him.”

 

“You think because you’ve been playing gang life for two weeks, you know anything about me and my men?”

 

The bar counter sits between them, their voices quiet, but heated, and Betty fight the urge to walk around the bar, to be closer to him.

 

“How’s that going, by the way, _Ghoulie Queen?_ ” he’s the one taunting her now and her fists clench tightly as he continues, making his way slowly around the bar, his eyes never leaving hers, “what do your men think about the fact that you didn’t blink an eye over killing half the men who turned against you, but all you want to do is _talk_ to the Serpent Prince?”

 

“Fuck you, Jughead.” The words leave her mouth as he stops only a few feet in front of her and he raises an eyebrow.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Betts? What are your men doing while you try to distract me? Setting a couple fires, fucking up our bikes?”

 

Her heart is pounding as he steps closer to her and part of her wants to push him, just lay her hands on him and push him as far away from her as she can get. But another part of her wants something completely different and that part of her keeps her rooted to the spot.

 

“You should’ve just handed over this shit bar,” she whispers and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes linger on her bare collarbone or the way her own eyes travel to his inked one.

 

The silence of the empty bar only broken by their dark whispers and heated breaths at this point is an urgent reminder that she needs to leave _now,_ that she gave him their conditions and he’d clearly rejected them, but his gaze meets hers again and his tongue runs against his bottom lip.

 

“I guess I’ll see you around, Ghoulie Queen.”

 

“I hope not, Serpent Prince,” she whispers back, understanding the dismissal, a conversation leading nowhere, before turning slowly towards the way she came in, knowing he’s still watching her as she walks away.

 

And they both know this is the right thing to do. To let this night go, to have come to the understanding that there is no understanding that’s been made between the Serpents and the Ghoulies, to let tomorrow play out the way that it will and to remain this disentangled from each other’s lives.

 

But that doesn’t stop Jughead from closing the space between them, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, and pulling her back towards him.

 

And that doesn’t stop Betty from crashing her red painted lips against his soft bare ones, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as he picks her up and slams her atop the bar table, her nails digging into the complex crown tattoo spread across his back. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi babes! Thank you so much for bearing with me these past couple of weeks, I'm so sorry this update took forever. Life got a bit hectic on me. But I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Leave a comment if you'd like, reading them makes me day! xo ❤


	5. Jack and Coke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when bad boys and bad girls collide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: smut with a side of plot ahead.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

 

Her words are hot against his ear as he stands between her legs, her knuckles whitening as her grip tightens on the bar counter.

 

“Of course it doesn’t.”

 

His words are rough against the soft skin on the column of her neck as he sinks his teeth in, wanting to leave her with a bruised reminder of this night.  

 

Her ankles cross behind his back, pulling him against her and she smirks when she feels how impossibly hard she’s made him already. Her lips crush his, his tongue sliding against her own as his fingers fall between them, pressing against the damp lace.

 

He grins a little _too_ arrogantly as he pulls away and she rolls her eyes teasingly, bringing her lips to his neck to suck and bite until she leaves a mark of her own. He groans softly as her teeth sink into his lower lip and he pushes her skirt up, past her upper thighs.

 

“Jughead,” she breathes, kissing down his bare chest as his fingers grip her upper thighs, “are you really going to fuck me on top of this bar counter like I’m just some _random girl?”_

 

He almost laughs, his fingers tugging her hair as he pulls her head back to meet his heated, lust-filled gaze, “No Betts, I’m going to fuck you on top of this bar counter like the _queen you are.”_

 

Her arms wrap around his neck as they meet in another heated kiss; his fingers hook into her underwear, dragging them off and pulling her towards him, so that she sits at the very edge of the countertop. His grin widens as she spreads her legs open and his eyes drift back up to the playful smile on her face.

 

He kneels down, trailing hot kisses and nips against her inner thighs, before he presses his mouth against her clit, sucking it gently before running his tongue up her heat. The excitement of their bodies finally colliding mixing with the anxiety of possibly being caught by the sleeping Serpents just down the hall is making their movements rushed and _rough._ Her fingers yank his wild curls as her other hand slaps against her mouth, stifling her soft moans as he continues to slide his tongue deep inside of her. His fingers grip her inner thighs, leaving red imprints as her nails scratch against his scalp.

 

He feels her begin to quiver, her core tightening as he works on her clit, allowing one of his fingers to slide inside of her, her wet warmth only making him that much harder.

 

He feels her shudder, a loud sigh escaping her as her hand falls from her mouth and slams against the bar counter. He straightens hurriedly, pressing his lips against hers, the need to be as close to her as possible overwhelming him.

 

She’s still catching her breath when her fingers fly to the drawstring on his navy blue pajama pants, and he grips the back of her neck, deepening their kiss, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

 

“I’m clean,” she says softly against his mouth, lifting her gaze his as the kiss breaks, “and on birth control.”

 

He presses another kiss to her lips before he pulls back, capturing her chin between his fingers and holding her gaze, “I’m clean too, Betty.”

 

“Good,” she says quickly and yanks his head down to hers for another deep kiss, her fingers tugging the drawstring loose.

 

His pants fall to the ground and she lets her gaze drop to his fully hardened length, a pleased smile replacing what once had been a smirk.

 

“Like what you see?” he murmurs against her ear, grinning as he tugs her earlobe between his teeth.

 

“It’ll get the job done,” she whispers back, giggling when he pulls back to arch an eyebrow teasingly at her. She grips him with her hand, running it up and down his length before he leans forward and presses the tip against her entrance.

 

She wraps her legs around his waist again, pulling his head down to press her lips against his. He slides inside of her slowly and she gasps, pressing her forehead against his as she adjusts to his size, her breathing rapid and  _hot._

 

Their mouths are barely an inch apart as he waits for her to move against him, to signal that she _wants_ this, and he can feel the heat between them growing thick.

 

Her heels press against his lower back as she breathes, “ _Jughead,”_ and he shoves himself inside of her, clutching her hair roughly between his fingers as his eyes close, the feeling of being inside of her beyond anything he could have imagined.

 

She moves against him and he pounds against her, again and again, their rushed and heavy breaths syncing with each thrust.

 

Her nails drag roughly down his back and the pain only makes him pound harder, knowing that he’s going to wake up tomorrow with remnants of this night on his body. She wraps her hand around his forearm tightly, pulling back to meet his gaze and he can see she’s _so close._

 

He moves his hands to grip her waist, grounding her against the countertop, as he thrusts into her deeper and harder than he had been before, slamming his lips against hers. She kisses him back for only a second before she lets her head fall back, her nails digging into his arm.

 

“Fuck,” she groans as her body tightens around him and he moans into her neck, finding his own release deep inside of her.

 

As soon as her body relaxes, she pushes him out of her as if she can't possibly believe she's let this happen and hops down from the counter, tugging her skirt down.

 

He immediately yanks his pants up and smiles at her, attempting to ignore the way the loss of her body pressed against his stings.

 

A smile she tentatively returns before glancing around and whispering, “do you have a bathroom?”

 

His fingers are intertwined with hers as he leads her, giggling softly, past the main bar bathrooms towards a door with seven complex locks on the outside.

 

His bedroom is bare, only a few pieces of furniture and a large bed. He hopes she doesn’t notice how impersonal it is, how it doesn’t represent who he is in the slightest, as she makes her way to his master bathroom.

 

He looks at the clock and a blinking 4:30AM glares back at him, making his heart drop in a way he definitely doesn’t want to acknowledge. She opens the door quietly a few moments later and tilts her head at him as she shuts off the light, a smile tugging at her lips.

 

“I hope this is okay,” she says, tugging on the bottom of one of his favorite S t-shirts that is now adorning her curves and his eyes travel the length of her body appreciatively.

 

He knows she’s wearing nothing else and it makes him think things he shouldn’t be thinking, running his fingers through his hair as she climbs onto his bed, pulling the sheets out and snuggling underneath.

 

“You are an enigma, Cooper,” he mutters, not being able to fight the grin on his face as he slides under the sheets with her, allowing her to snuggle against his chest.

 

“Do you mind if I stay? For just another hour or two-”

 

“...I want you to stay.”

 

He bites his lip, quickly regretting the words that now hang heavy in the air between them, but then he sees the way she’s smiling, resting her head against his chest and he reminds himself to relax.

 

“Tell me, Serpent Prince,” she says softly as he runs his fingers through her hair absentmindedly, “if you could be anything you wanted, what would it be?”

 

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

 

Her lips curve into one of the most genuine smiles he’s ever seen grace her face and he brushes away the warmth that creeps into his heart at the sight of it.

 

“I promise.”

 

“I like to think I’d be an author,” his voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, “I’d want someone to finish reading a novel I’ve written and, you know, say, ‘wow...that was _good’._ ”

 

She doesn’t respond right away and he chuckles nervously, “but you know, it’s just a dre-”

 

“I love that,” she interrupts, her thumb rubbing against his ribcage, before she adds thoughtfully, “I bet you’re a great writer.”

 

“I’m not terrible,” he smirks cockily and she smacks his arm, smiling up at him as he chuckles and shakes his head. 

 

“What about you? What would you be if you weren’t the Ghoulie Queen?”

 

“Promise _you_ won’t laugh?” she’s gone back to rubbing her thumb in gentle circles against his tattooed skin and he thinks _I could get used to this_ before instantly brushing that thought aside.

 

“I promise.”

 

“I think I’d be a detective, or maybe work for the CIA,” she says, shrugging before she glances up at him, “I’d want to solve crimes rather than...commit them.”

 

He runs his fingers through her hair again, the soft golden strands falling against his calloused hand as he works up the courage to _just_ ask her.

 

“Betty,” he finally says, finding confidence in the peacefulness that’s found its way around them, and she offers a small smile, shifting her body towards him, “how did you become...a Ghoulie?”

 

The sudden silence makes him regret asking and he wishes he could turn back time, just two minutes, but then she sighs and gives a half-hearted shrug.

 

“I was about four years old when my biological father left us with absolutely nothing,” she finally sighs, glancing down at his black sheets and pulling at a loose thread, “my mother did everything she could to try to find us help, but almost everyone she asked turned her away. Everyone...except Malachai.”

 

Jughead winces, his temper flaring at the name of the idiot Ghoulie leader who had only irritated him since he’d first repped his Serpent colors.

 

“Long story short...his help came with a price.”

 

He watches her, noting the way she continues to pull at the thread on sheet with one hand, running her fingers through her hair with the other while keeping her gaze averted.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a moment, his fingers tilting her chin up to him, forcing her to meet his own gaze, “that our parents... didn’t give us a choice.”

 

Her eyebrows furrow as she stares at him and, for a second, he feels as though he’s said something terribly wrong.

 

But then her lips press against his and he cups her face, kissing her back slowly and passionately. Her tongue runs against his bottom lip and he sighs comfortably against her mouth when she moves his sheet and swings her leg over his waist, straddling him.

 

This is different than earlier, he can _feel_ the difference, as she kisses him, her fingers weaving through his hair as his hands fall to her waist. There’s a silent understanding between them now, a kinship almost. She pulls away, smiling at him as she sits up and feels how hard he is against her inner thigh. The moon shines through his blinds, casting a patterned glow across her body as her hair falls in front of one side of her face.

 

He reaches up, tucking the strands behind her ear before he breathes, “fuck, you’re beautiful.”

 

Her smile falters as she watches him, her chest heaving a bit faster as he continues to look at her and she grips his length in her hand, positioning herself.

 

She slides onto him with ease this time, her head falling back as she moans softly and he arches his own back, his fingers gripping her waist. She feels so warm and tight wrapped around him and he thinks _I could bury myself inside of this woman forever_ before promptly dismissing the thought.

 

Her hand braces against his abdomen as she slowly lifts herself up and falls against him, riding him again and again as his fingers dig into her hip bones, the heat rushing through him causing his breathing to fall from his mouth, shallow and rushed.

 

She brings her gaze back to his as he feels her toes curl near his knees and he can tell she’s on the edge, which only makes him raise his hand to the back of her neck, drawing her back down to him.

 

She kisses him, moaning softly against his mouth, her fingers weaving into his hair and grasping it as she continues moving against him. He can feel himself, so _close_ , but his fingers dig into her back as he attempts to hold off, wanting her to cum first.

 

When she does, so does he, and her fingers remain strongly intertwined in his hair until she pulls away, panting heavily.

 

Attempting to steady his own breath, he holds her gaze as he lifts his hand to gently cup her cheek.

 

“Betty,” he breathes, his clock now reading 5:30AM causing an anxiety of the unknown to course through his veins,  “please tell me I’m not going to regret this in the morning.”

 

Her eyes remain locked on his as her own breathing slows before she closes her eyes, turns her head and places a soft kiss against his palm.

* * *

  _Meanwhile at Ghoulie Manor..._

 

“Where the fuck is she? It’s been four hours.”

 

“Relax, Cher, they’re probably in _deep_ , _intimate_ conversation,” Kevin grins, glancing up from his phone briefly to catch Cheryl’s glare.

 

“I swear, if she-” the harsh sound of a heel piercing the top step of the staircase stops Cheryl short.

 

_“Where is he?”_

 

Her voice slices through the air like ice, sending shivers down their spines and Cheryl immediately steps back, motioning to the man currently strapped to a chair in the middle of their basement.

 

One lone bulb illuminates his bloodied and bruised face and he raises his gaze to meets her as she walks towards him, her heels _clicking_ against the cement floor.

 

Stopping in front of him, a smirk tugs at her lips as she surveys the damage.

 

“When he finds out where I am,” the man sneers, taking a second to spit out the blood pooling in his mouth, “he’ll burn this fucking place to the ground with you _and your daughter_ in it.”

 

“Oh, I hope he does...because if we burn,” Alice Cooper bends down, her long manicured nails digging into the swelling around his chin, making sure her and FP are at eye level,  she yanks his head to attention, “ _so will you.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank you all for your patience with these updates! I love receiving asks about this fic and it means so much to me that you care and are kind towards me about the wait. 
> 
> A big big thank you to @bugggghead for betaing this chapter for me! you are such a positive and lovely part of this fandom and I'm so grateful to have you as a friend! ❤ 
> 
> Reading your comments completely makes my day, so leave them if you'd like! xx


	6. Bourbon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you've made your bed. now lie in it.

The loud _tick-tock_ echoing from the vintage alarm clock resting on his nightstand serves as a constant and painful reminder that she needs to leave.

 

But his arm is tucked around her, holding her close, and his gentle breathing is on the verge of lulling her back to sleep.

 

She silently fights the urge to reach out and brush the dark curl that has fallen while he’s slept, wanting to touch him, but knowing she’s already lost that privilege. He just doesn’t know it yet.

 

She can’t help but allow herself to drift into what she wishes were her reality, another life really, if only for a couple more minutes.

 

Her eyes roam over his sleeping face, a state of peace she’s never seen him in. His eyebrows aren’t furrowed in the concerned way they usually are when she’s come across his path and even the worry and stress that is consistently evident in the dark circles under his eyes appears lighter.

 

In this moment, he looks almost…happy.

 

And as she gazes up at him, her imagination escapes her, taking her to a place where the rivalry brewing between them is non-existent. A place where she would, in this moment, wiggle gently from his grasp and place a soft kiss to his forehead, giggling when he mumbles, ‘five more minutes, baby,’ before sleep takes him once again.

 

The corners of her mouth turn up as her daydream continues with her slipping out of their bed in his t-shirt and sneaking down the hallway, to the Whyte Wyrm’s kitchen. She would make him a steaming pot of coffee and whatever breakfast is his absolute favorite (because at this point she would know, although, judging by their short time at the diner, his favorite is everything).

 

She’d place the leftovers out for the rest of the members, both the Ghoulies and the Serpents, because, of course, in her imagination they are all amicable and actually enjoy having a nice brunch together.

 

Padding down the hallway to their room, she’d slip back inside and the comforting aroma of black coffee and pancakes would cause him to stir. Opening one eye to glance over at her, a genuine smile would tease the corners of his mouth.

 

“I must be dreaming, Betts,” he’d murmur, sleepily pulling himself into a sitting position as she carefully climbs back onto the bed, balancing the tray of breakfast until he’s ready to have it placed on his lap, “because this and you cannot be real.”

 

She can be a domestic sap deep down and she knows it.

 

But reality is nothing like the dream she quickly buries and she also knows, even though she has so much she wants to say, that she’s running out of time. She scoots out from under his grasp as softly and quietly as she can, praying that he remains in this sound state of sleep.

 

As she carefully slides her skirt over her bare legs, she realizes she’s still wearing his t-shirt. The fabric hangs loosely over her small frame and the faint scent of cigarette smoke and pine soap comforts her in a way part of her wishes it didn’t.

 

But she tucks the hem of the shirt into her skirt and slides her jacket on, zipping it all of the way up to hide the shirt, to keep it her little secret.

 

Before she shuts his door, she steals one last glance at him, knowing this is the last time she gets to look at him like this, like he’s hers.

* * *

 She makes it up to her bathroom without running into any of her Ghoulies, thankful for the peace and quiet she knows this shower will afford her. Her heart is heavy but her mind is heavier and the steam from the shower surrounds her like a safety blanket.

 

One night stands are not Betty’s thing in the slightest, although she wishes they were. A good time with no baggage sounds like exactly what she needs.

 

But her last one night stand had been terrible at best. He was a handsome, wealthy, a Yale graduate with the intelligence to match. But he’d been dull and lackluster at dinner, even more so in bed, and she’d spent the hour after he’d left in her shower, scrubbing away any remnants of him from both her body and mind.

 

Her night with Jughead was one night, but a completely different situation, and when she peels her clothes off, she hangs his shirt on the hook behind the door.

 

She had been raised to hate everything about the Serpents and about the Jones family in particular. The bright green snake that wound across all of their clothing would pop up in her nightmares as a child, frightening her in ways she couldn’t help but succumb to.

 

She would immediately crawl into Cheryl’s bed, praying she wouldn’t wake her sleeping cousin, but knowing she couldn’t sleep alone.

 

Alice had made the Serpent King out to be the worst man she could possibly imagine, a man who had turned her away as a child with a dismissive wave, sending them back to the streets where her mother, a newly widowed woman, and her now fatherless child had gone hungry for far too many nights.

 

A man who tortured Ghoulies for fun before returning to the Wyrm for a glass of whiskey.

 

Her mother never spoke of FP unless it was to curse every single piece of him, down to his child, a child he had groomed to take his place when the time was right.

 

A child that Betty had always seen as only two things: an obstacle and an enemy.

 

And, as Betty had grown older, her childish fear had manifested into a vengeful rage that ran deep in her veins, clouding her judgment and fueling her determination to take the Southside away from the Serpents. From the Jones’. To make them feel the pain and loneliness that had haunted her and her mother for years.

 

And yet.

 

As her lavender and vanilla body soap scrubs away the remnants of last night, Betty finds herself wondering how many of those childhood tales were actually true.

 

Does Jughead really deserve the wrath her mother and her had planned to unleash on the Serpents for so many years? If FP had really sent Alice away, back to the streets where she had absolutely nothing but a small child to care for, would he really raise a son as caring and intuitive as Jughead?

 

Was her mother so blinded by a need for revenge that Betty didn’t have enough details about to truly understand?

 

A heated, tingling sensation forms in her throat and she knows the hot water dripping down her face consists more of tears than the scalding water from her shower. She finds herself curling up on the floor of her bathtub, the water sliding off of her body in sheets as she allows the pain, confusion, and anger to consume her.

 

An hour later, she’s exhausted and drawing all of her blinds, coating her room in darkness before she slides under her heavy comforter, his t-shirt the only piece of clothing she’s felt comfortable in since she’d first put it on. She’s asleep within minutes, enveloped by his scent and the memories it holds.  

 

“Elizabeth Cooper, do you have any idea what time it is? I’ve called you at least 15 times, I thought the Serpents were holding you hostage!” Alice’s shrill voice is almost as painful as the natural light that floods the room when she rips Betty’s blinds open.

 

Betty winces, slowly opening her eyes to glance at her mother’s clearly perturbed form, making sure to keep the comforter pulled up to her chin.

 

“Honestly, Elizabeth, how could you not have told anyone you were home? Cheryl and Kevin dragged the Serpent King into the basement hours ago!”

 

“He’s not the Serpent King anymore,” Betty interrupts softly, sitting up and dragging the comforter with her. She knows the top of the S adorning her shirt is peaking out and prays that her mother has enough on her mind to distract her from the realization.

 

Alice’s eyes flash and her eyebrow arches. “Regardless, he’s tied to a chair and eagerly waiting for the Ghoulie Queen to speak to him, so if you could find it in your schedule to actually act like the position you hold in this gang-”

 

“Mother-”

 

Alice holds up one hand, silencing Betty, before she tugs open the smallest drawer of her dresser, pulling from it Betty’s pair of brass knuckles, adorned in diamonds where the knuckles make impact.

 

Betty’s weapon of choice for interrogation. She flinches slightly at the sight of them, her heart sinking for reasons she can’t quite explain.

 

“Elizabeth,” her mother sighs, shaking her head in irritation. “Get up. This man has done nothing but hurt every single Ghoulie in his path, including you! And here you are, a disgusting waste of a Ghoulie leader up here sleeping-”

 

Betty eyes flash as she slips out of bed and walks towards her, yanking the brass knuckles free from her mother’s grip before her eyes narrow as she spits, “If you wanted to lead the Ghoulies so bad, mother, you should’ve been the one to take the beating for it.”

 

She’s about to exit the room, towards her bathroom, her only safe place,  when Alice grips her arm, her nails digging into the skin as she yanks Betty back to meet her gaze.

 

“I hope you enjoyed yourself last night,” she whispers, her expression twisted with disgust as her eyes fall to the shirt clinging to Betty’s body, “because once he realizes what you’ve done, he’s never going to touch you again.”

* * *

 The limp, battered body of the infamous FP Jones, illuminated by the single hanging bulb of the Ghoulies basement, is everything Betty had thought she wanted when she’d began this journey.

 

But in this moment, she feels as though she may be physically ill at the sight.

 

His head is lulled to one side, the left side of his face swollen, leaving him unrecognizable. But when she makes her way down the staircase towards him, the sounds of her shoes alert him to her presence and he lifts his head to look at her.

 

They say nothing for a moment, both staring at each other with a strange sense of bewilderment. She had dreamed of this moment for so long, the retribution she would unleash on him, the biting words she would snap in his direction, the pain she would inflict without remorse.

 

But instead, a heavy silence settles between them and the brass knuckles tucked into her pocket feel weighted with uncertainty.

 

He clears his throat uncomfortably before he says anything, his voice hoarse from the lack of water and abundance of pain.

 

“Elizabeth Cooper… I should’ve known.”

 

She stands in front of him now, attempting to glare at his tied and weak form but failing as her eyes reflect her internal conflict, before she returns, “Should’ve known what?”

 

“Should’ve known you were Alice’s daughter when you turned heads in my bar so many weeks ago.”

 

“It wouldn’t have made a difference if you had. You’d still be strapped to a chair in the Manor’s basement.”

 

He chuckles until it manifests into a heaving cough and Betty grimaces, no longer being able to take it. She walks quickly to the mini fridge set up towards the back of the basement and pulls a bottle of water out, offering it to him the second she’s close enough.

 

She can’t tell if it’s the noise falling from the back of his throat that’s making her stomach turn, or the fact that her members are the reason he’s this fucked up in the first place.

 

He’s not in the worst shape she’s ever seen a man, but she hadn’t expected them to be this brutal.

 

He drinks the water with a thirst she’s seen only a few times before, almost a quarter of the bottle dripping down his chin and splashing against the dried blood caked on his t-shirt.

 

He gasps when she takes the bottle away, not wanting him to be sick from the sudden onslaught of fluid and he brings his gaze back to her as his chest calms from the heaving breaths.

 

“I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time,” she says, dropping the water bottle with a crash against the cement floor as she pulls out her weapon of choice. Of Alice’s choice, really.

 

He watches her slide the knuckles over her fingers, a perfect fit, but he shows no sign of fear. No emotion at all really and when she hesitates, his expression almost softens.

 

“Just do it,” he finally sighs, tilting his head back expectantly for the first blow. “Your mother won’t let you leave until you do.”

 

Betty watches him for a moment, studying his face, looking for some piece of resemblance to his son, but is only met with disappointment.

 

Where the piercing blue of his father’s eyes are filled with a dark emptiness she remembers faintly from her nightmares, the blue in his eyes hid a sliver of naïve hope that had made her heart squeeze every time she’d gazed into them.

 

“You don’t know why you’re doing this, do you?”

 

She lifts her gaze to his and raises an eyebrow, her fingers flexing threateningly within the confines of the brass. “Excuse me?”

 

“What’s made you hate the Serpents so deeply-”

 

“I don’t hate the Serpents.” Although she knows the words are true as soon as they leave her mouth, the sentence still feels foreign on her tongue. “I hate _you_.”

 

The smile he’s attempting only effectively raises one corner of his mouth and reveals that he’s in more pain than the front he’s trying to portray lets on.

 

“Well, Elizabeth, you don’t know me,” he finally says, shrugging his shoulders in a restrained movement. “So what has your mother told you?”

 

He’s starting to piss her off and she considers throwing a punch just to get him to stop talking. To stop talking about her mother.

 

Because she’s sick of everything in her life revolving around Alice Cooper. Every why, every how, every _when_.

 

But before she can close her hand into a familiar fist, he raises an eyebrow at her and asks, “did my son do that?”

 

Her cheeks burn as her fingers fly to the edge of the deep purple mark Jughead had left on her collar bone last night. She’d thought the button up top she put on would hide that, but FP’s eyes are lingering where she knows the mark is and the side of his mouth that isn’t swollen is turned up in a smirk.

 

“You know, I’d been wondering why he’d seemed almost _upbeat_ lately,” he chuckles and Betty winces when he has to take another moment to cough. “A Cooper woman is a weakness for a Jones.”

 

“Not when it matters,” Betty snaps, her mother’s words about what he’d done flood her brain as she crouches down so that they’re at eye level. “I should kill you.”

 

“For what? The Southside?” he says, shaking his head slightly. “Why the fuck do you want this piece of shit part of Riverdale so bad?”

 

“Not for the Southside,” she scoffs at his lack of willingness to admit the truth about what he’d done.“You know what you did.”

 

“Enlighten me, Elizabeth.”

 

Her nails dig into her palms as she glares at him, but she can’t stand being in his presence another moment, the pain and confusion overwhelming her, so she murmurs, “my father had just died. I was only five years old when you turned my mother and I away. You were our last chance. You’re the reason I’m even in this fucked up position with a gang that’s been nothing but a joke until I took over.”

 

His eyes widened as she spoke, a droplet of sweat rolling down the side of his face. She takes his expression as an admission of guilt, one she isn’t sure she even wanted, standing to adjust her brass knuckles, now bloody from her own palm.

 

“I didn’t turn your mother and you away,” he finally says, the crack in his voice revealing his own confusion as he continues, “she never came to me after your father died.”

 

Betty shifts her gaze down to  meet his, her heart beginning to pound at his words.

 

_“What?”_

 

“Your mother and I had a passionate relationship, Elizabeth. A lot of shit went down between us and she walked in on me with another woman,” he says, shaking his head in regret at his own wrongdoings from the past. “I had tried to chase her, to explain, but she wanted nothing more to do with me. She married some boring broker from the city and the next thing I knew, he was dead and she was a Ghoulie’s lady.”

 

If her world had come crashing down on her this morning, it was currently exploding around her. If what he’s saying is true, her life was built on a minefield of lies. Her chest squeezes tightly as she stares at him

 

“There was nothing I could do at that point,” his words are rushed now, as if he can’t get them out fast enough, “except make the Ghoulies out to be nothing but a bunch of good-for-nothing losers so the Serpents would lose interest in hurting them. In hurting you and your mother.”

 

“You’re _lying_ ,” she whispers.

 

“You think my men couldn’t have gone in there and ended the Ghoulies in one fuckin’ night? You yourself had half of them killed the second you came into power, right?”

 

The diamond encrusted brass knuckles slip from her fingers, crashing to the ground with a loud crack. Everything falls silent around her except for the echoes bouncing off the barren walls.

* * *

 He’s slung over her shoulder now and while she may be strong, she’s definitely not going to be able to get him all the way to the back door of the basement and out towards the street for a cab.

 

She’s panting and he’s groaning quietly beside her, his body sore from being seated in one position for too many hours, when a large portion of his weight is relieved from her and she looks over to see Kevin.

 

“Listen Cooper, you know I’d do anything for you but there better be a good explanation for this. Cheryl’s called Toni to come get him.”

 

Betty doesn’t say anything, focusing instead on her breathing as they continue to move through the darkness, towards the street. FP’s groaning has quieted now, but his breathing is irregular and she can only hope that the damage that’s been done to him is solely superficial.

 

“Cooper,” Kevin repeats quietly as she forces herself to look past FP’s profile and towards one of her very best friends. “Are you okay?”

 

She wants to scream. To scream that of course she’s not okay. That she won’t ever be okay. That she’s made mistakes now based on lies created by the one person she thought she could trust. That she’s now hurt someone who will never forgive her, someone that just this morning she’d been envisioning making pancakes for in some imaginary life she never knew she wanted before then.

 

She smells cinnamon wafting towards her and whips her head in the direction of her other best friend, draped in a red silk robe. She’s gripping a chilled water bottle and her eyes are searching the road, for Toni, Betty’s sure.

 

They stop once they hit the street, although Betty can only be so sure with no street lamps around. A harsh Riverdale breeze nips at her bare arms and once she feels Kevin begin to kneel down, to allow FP a gentle drop to the ground, she moves out from underneath him.

 

“Is Toni coming alone?”

 

Cheryl’s eyes flash in her direction as she leans down to offer FP the opened water bottle, a liquid he immediately grabs from her, taking small sips as Kevin watches the road.

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

Betty drops her hands from where she had been rubbing her arms for warmth, her fingers curling into fists as the anxiety of who could be with Toni races through her body.

 

“My mother lied, Cher.”

 

Kevin glances towards her when the words leave her mouth and Cheryl runs her fingers through her vibrant red curls, not meeting Betty’s  eyes. Even in the midst of torturing a man, she still looks absolutely flawless.

 

She opens her mouth to respond but the sounds of motorcycle engines rip through the air and Betty feels her throat close, immediately beginning to take steps backwards towards the Manor.

 

She knows how she would act if she came upon Jughead standing next to her mother’s battered body. She would lose her mind. She knows she won’t be able to handle his reaction, one look at his face will send her over the edge, so she turns around as their bikes skid to a stop in front of the group, creating clouds of dirt mixing with the breeze.

 

Tears are already falling down her cheeks as her throat burns, the speed at which she’s walking increasing as the rumble of the engines cease.

 

“You look like shit, FP,” she hears Toni say followed by the pained chuckle of their OG leader.

 

But she doesn’t hear _him._

 

She’s almost halfway towards the Manor now, keeping her eyes fixated on the one window that’s glowing - her bedroom window. She quickly wipes the tears from her face, but fresh tears take their place right after, splashing against the soft pastel pink of her top.

 

An engine starts again and curiosity gets the better of her, forcing her to turn her head enough to see that he’s there.

 

And he’s watching her walk away, the smoke from his cigarette drifting above his head.

 

She stops walking at the same time her heart drops, the tears falling faster when she turns around, shaking her head in his direction.

 

Her life may be a lie but she’s no fucking coward.

 

She wants to tell him that this situation is one that was built on falsities. That she hadn’t slept with him to distract him. That that wasn’t the plan. That she hadn’t meant to hurt his father and that she’d take it all back if she could. That she’s falling for him. That she’s so sorry.

 

But all that comes out is a strangled, “Jughead, _please_ -,” as he closes the space between them, stopping just short of her and tossing his cigarette to the ground. The peace that had encompassed him this morning while he slept looks like a stranger to his features now.

 

His eyebrows are intensely furrowed, his lips turned down in a disgusted frown as he looks between her and his father, who’s currently being assisted onto the back of his bike by Kevin.

 

“Jughead,” she whispers, her voice breaking as she searches his eyes, but he only shakes his head in response.

 

“You know, there was so much I was hoping you’d say when I got here,” he says and her bottom lip quivers as she wipes the tears from her eyes. He glances back at his father and continues in a low, dark voice, “but I think you’ve said enough.”

 

She thinks she reaches for him as he gives her one last disappointed look, but her hands never move and she remains immobilized long after he and the Serpents have ridden away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for your patience, I know I've been so slow with this fic, but I really do appreciate it and how kind you all have been. I hope you enjoyed this update as much as I enjoyed writing it (also, my apologies for that dash of angst there!) ❤ 
> 
> a big thank you and huge hug to my wonderful beta and friend, @bugggghead. you truly are a gift, babe! 
> 
> leave a comment if you'd like, reading them is my favorite part! ❤


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